"Never," Kylo agrees. The hand not currently curled around the hilt of a magic-infused greatsword slides around Ronan's body, fingertips resting on his sternum for a moment— then drags up, following an inevitable path along his line of symmetry. He indulges himself in the slow capture of Ronan's bared chest, his throat, drawing him against the solidity of himself, tipping his chin up and pressing his head back until he's effectively pinned there, a taut stretch and strain to be admired for its beauty.

"How could I ever forget this?"